


Fallen Ones

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story: Murder House, One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Demons, American Horror Story AU, Based in 2011, Bottom Louis, Chaptered, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Ghosts, It's only a little bit, M/M, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!!, Major character death - Freeform, Self Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, although there's some 1920's thrown in the mix, anne is a nosy and a cougar, everyone else are ghosts, gemma is always showing up places, harry needs a therapist and is dead, jay is emotional, just making sure you see, lou has two personalities, louis hates everything and everyone, mark is the unfaithful therapist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The definition of supernatural is a manifestation or event attributed to some force beyond scientific understandings or the laws of nature. paranormal, otherworldly, unearthly, unreal, a force without definition or interpretation on why that happened. </p><p>[or, basically, an american horror story au with all the cast of one direction thrown into the mix along with ghosts, a demon, and too much angst]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Ones

**Author's Note:**

> i know, i know, i'm terrible. it was just that i just finished the first season of ahs the other day and i had already started writing this when i was in the middle of watching it and i got addicted to the idea of harry being tate and louis being violet and i'm pretty sure no one has done a fanfiction based off of the first season.
> 
> now, i do recommend that you don't read this if you want to watch the show because it's going to spoil things since it's heavily based off of the show and even in the first chapter it spoils something from the get-go so please please please, if you were planning on watching the first season just watch that before coming back to read this.
> 
> [if you'd like to read the plot behind the show](http://americanhorrorstory.wikia.com/wiki/Category:Murder_House_%28story%29%0A)
> 
> and yes guys, this is bottom louis. sorry if that isn't your thing but writing bottom harry makes me uncomfortable. slight feminization, since louis dresses like taissa farmiga in the show, but not enough for me to actually tag about it. remember, harry is a patient so yeah, he's a little bit not right in the head. 
> 
> (title from panic! at the disco's 'this is gospel')
> 
> give it a chance, will you?

_"the devil is real, and he isn't a little red man with horns and a tail. he can be beautiful, because he's a fallen angel and he used to be god's favorite."_

*

 

the definition of supernatural is a manifestation or event attributed to some force beyond scientific understandings or the laws of nature. paranormal, otherworldly, unearthly, _unreal,_ a force without definition or interpretation on why that happened. an influence on the world that wasn't regular, wasn't entirely normal.

 

some people didn't believe in ghosts and demons and ghouls, all that things that come with the word supernatural. they thought the idea of things that were supposed to be dead to be still roaming around the earth, mostly because they believed in the idea of heaven or a place beyond this world that wouldn't be seen until you're graced with the pleasure of dying. it was a nice idea to think about, it was. that was exactly how most people welcomed the idea of death, because they had the illusion that they were going to be embraced into a place with no violence, where everyone's kind and hell, everyone's dead.

 

being dead wasn't all that bad, really. you got to do cool shit that people who were alive weren't able to do. you could kill anybody you wanted, because really, who's going to put a lamented person in jail? they would be seen as crazy, seen like they were absolutely bonkers but it was a scintillating sight to see, of course. it definitely wasn't the kindest thing to do to someone as a perished soul but you're dead as a doornail, might as well have some fun while you are.

 

a lot of the souls in a particular home take advantage of the fact that they're a so-called ghost because they can. so when different families moved in and out of said home, they'd make themself welcome, maybe even have fun with messing with the family. then, of course, the family would die and become souls in the house or move out because they're too cowardly to actually stay. it was a entertaining thing to do.

 

"this is quite the office, dr. tomlinson, i've got to say."

 

some 'ghosts' liked to screw with people, or make themselves known to others who were alive, mainly because it was for diversion, for a good laugh. they were stuck in the house anyway and if they were able to communicate with actual people and the actual people could see them, had no idea that they were full-on dead, why not have a little bit of enjoyment every now and then.

 

the best part was when a new family moved into the house with no idea about who and what walked around.

 

18-year-old, claimed dead in 1994, harry styles walked around said office, running his hand along the dark oak wooden walls before looking up at the therapist who had just moved into the home with his family of two.

 

he looked away from the wood with his eyebrows raised. "i like it," harry says.

 

the doctor nodded slowly, watching as he strode around the corners of the room and waiting until harry looked up again to gesture to the couch across from his seat covered in plastic. harry gave a dry laugh before walking over to the sofa and plopping down.

dr. tomlinson – or less formally known as mark – sat down in the chair across from where the eighteen-year-old was seated with his legs crossed together in a crisscross position. his green and black sweater was a size too big, hanging past his fingertips with the black button on each sleeve bumping against his hand each time he moved forward. he had an almost serene look on his face, like he was glad having need a therapist.

 

mark cleared his throat, crossing one of his legs over the other. "so, harold–" his voice was quickly cut off by harry saying _too formal_ as he fiddled with the buttons on the jumper, not even bothering to look up when he did talk. "–why do you feel like you need to be here?"

 

"no, no," harry says swiftly. " _i_ , as a person, did not decide to come here. it was my mom who felt like _i_ needed help. she's a cocksucker, in case you didn't notice."

 

the man across from him snorted before regaining his composure and venturing to attempt to cover the noise with a low cough. harry smirked happily, brushing the pad of his thumb against the rubber tip of his black chuck taylors that have worn over in the last couple of years. the room they were in was cold, different from the rest of the home which always seemed to feel like summertime each time you stepped into a room.

 

it wasn't entirely fair for harry to call his own mother such a word that really should only be used in porn titles and some vulgar movies and there was no _but_ in the situation. some people just didn't get along with their parents, or parent in this case, and harry was one of those few people. the story behind his hatred for her was simple, actually. it was just a waste of time to go into the long tale of the story of a mother and son's feud throughout the many years.

 

it would probably be a killer story for children, nonetheless.

 

there was a long story before mark was speaking again. "besides the fact that you think she's what you've described her as, why do you think she wanted you here?" he says finally, like he had been thinking about what to say.

 

"i like the idea of killing somebody, murdering a living being," harry replies calmly.

 

he's dealt with things like this, mark has. he had a office before his wife, jay, decided to move to california for reasons no one liked to discuss – he cheated on her with one of his students and jay wanted to move away from colorado to make sure that it didn't happen again – and he's coped with hearing the woman go on and on about wanting to stab her mother until she was literally with the dead.

 

it wasn't the best thing to hear every single tuesday afternoon but it was what he was getting paid for. she eventually just stopped coming one day and mark was informed days later that her family decided to just throw her in the loony bin before she actually decided to make her own mother take a knife to her withered back. it was just the fact that he hadn't been expecting this somewhat normal seeming boy to say exactly what he did.

 

he clears his throat, attempting to make the widening of his eyes not as noticeable. harry didn't make moves to imply that he saw, so mark continued speaking. "so, you want to kill someone?" he says slowly, like he's talking to a child.

 

"you're not getting me, tomlinson," harry sighs, leaning forward to put his sharp chin in the palm of his hand. "i have this dream, right, almost every night. i assassinate each and every person in whatever place i decide to. except, i only kill people that i like. _but,_ just because i dream of killing someone and fantasize about getting someone else's blood on my hands, doesn't mean that i want to murder someone. i just enjoy the idea of taking someone else's life."

 

mark blinked at him and the younger man gave him a genuine smile, shifting slightly on the large sofa. from the looks of it, this was going to be a fun family to screw with.

 

                                                                        *

 

 

"you're okay with finding your own way out, right?"

 

harry nodded slowly, back to his old spot that he was standing in when he first came in for his session, near the beautiful oak walls on the edging of the chilly room. maybe ten or fifteen minutes passed with him just tracing the designs carved into the walls with the pads of his fingertips, the ending sleeve of his jumper hitting the wall each time that he did so. mark was on the other side of the room, shuffling papers together silently and for the longest time, harry was almost certain that he had forgotten that he was even in the room. that was, until, he had politely and formally told him to leave.

 

he looks at mark for another moment before running his fingers through his hair and walking out of the doorway silently, poking his head back in one last time to look at those barriers that he had come to love. the hallway just outside of the space stretched almost endlessly, alike to many of the other halls in the obscenely large home. the sounds of the maid who worked in the home, lou, was in earshot although she was probably too old to even hear herself at this point.

 

the sounds of the soles of his chuck taylors seemed obnoxiously loud as he made his way down the hallway, tapping walls with the heel of his shoe occasionally. harry's never met mark's wife or this mysterious son who he's heard blasting some god awful band when he's down in the basement, playing with theo. the only thing that he knows about the two was something that lou had told him; that they liked the house to be colder than usual people which explained why he felt like he was going to freeze into a icecube right in that moment.

 

 

one of the doors are open along the many trailing down the walls of the corridor, that being odd in itself since lou always liked keeping the doors shut tight. firstly, he just thinks about walking past and not making himself known to whoever was in there, if

anyone was in there in the first place, but then he hears the sounds of someone wincing through their teeth which sounded like the exact definition of pain and call him a masochist but harry liked to witness pain.

 

he almost snickers when he walks into the doorway and sees the sight of someone's small body frame's back turned towards him, hunched over the old-school sink with a blade in their nimble fingers and puddles of red sat in the bowl of the sink. the individual had the sharp rectangles edge pressed their wrist horizontally and before harry could even stop himself, he finds his lips moving and words spilling out from them.

 

"you should go vertically if you wanna kill yourself," he says with a sarcastic tone that he hadn't used in a while.

 

the person who he could now see was a boy who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen years old whirled around, with the blade still pressed into his pale skin. there were traces of pure panic dotted onto his features, not ceasing to relax once he figured that it wasn't his mother or father. his eyes were a dark shade of blue, although harry wasn't able to see the scintillating irises when the bloke narrowed his eyes with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

there was a long pause in that hung in the cold air before someone spoke. "what?" the boy asks.

 

harry steps farther into the doorframe, resting the palm of his hand against the cracked wood, tilting his head to the side as he grazes his eyes along the short stretch of the lad's body. he was short; mustard cardigan hanging off of his shoulders and torso like an old sheet. his choice was outfit was odd almost, the cardigan paired with a pair of loose shorts that were cuffed at the bottom, a grey shirt that was a size too big, and a pair of black boots that were decorated with many buckles, along with a black bowler hat perched on the back of his head, messy pieces of his hair gone amiss along his forehead.

 

"you're doing it wrong, if you're trying to kill yourself you should cut vertically. they can't stitch that up," harry repeats.

 

the boy blinks at him. "how did you get in here?"

 

a moment passed before the eighteen-year-old was laughing until his breath, backing up away from the doorframe and circling the palm of his hand around the silver doorknob, ignoring its disgustingly frigid temperature. the bloke was watching him contently, razor blade still pressed against his wrist.

 

 

"if you're going to kill yourself, might wanna shut the door too," he replies, wiggling the doorknob for emphasis before closing it quietly.


End file.
